


Maraas Shokra

by MommaUrsa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Religion, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MommaUrsa/pseuds/MommaUrsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris found he wasn’t the only Tevinter slave to be taken in by the Fog Warriors. The Warriors told him many slaves had been brought over, only to be left by their masters when there wasn’t enough room on the boats for the slaves to escape. The Fog Warriors knew the slaves were innocent, that they were brought to Seheron by force. This code of honor was one of the many things Fenris found himself admiring about the people who took him in.</p><p>A character study about Fenris's time in Seheron after Danarius left him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maraas Shokra

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to saccarines for looking this fic over for me !

          The panic swelled in his chest, bubbling until he felt like he was going to be sick. Fenris bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back a groan as he rolled over on the bedding. The movement had his entire body screaming, begging him to stay flat on his back. The stretch tugged at the veins of lyrium burned into his flesh. Thy felt like they were on fire, making him want to scream, but he managed to stay silent.

          “Get back down.” The voice was a low rumble with a firmness that had Fenris refusing to disobey. He ignored the screaming in his veins as he slowly got onto his back, stretching beneath the too-hot blanket piled on him.

          Fenris slowly peeled his eyes open. The fire beside him seemed too bright. He had to turn his head to the side, blocking enough of the light to let himself adjust. As he waited, the memories before he blacked out returned to him. He remembered the look Danarius had given him before being forced to flee the island.

          His master had left him. His eyes narrowed at the thought. His master didn't want to. He knew that, but he had still been left behind. There was a brief moment of relief before the panic and hurt swept it out. He felt betrayed.

          He slowly turned his head so he could look at the man sitting across from him. He squinted past the flames, taking in the horns mounted on the head of the large form.

          The Qunari was bulky, body rippling with large muscles. He had scars across the exposed skin of his face and arms. His dark hair was pulled back, framing the large, curling horns. He was a hardened warrior, one of the ones Fenris always imagined - or was it more hope than imagination - taking his life.

          "Your injuries aren't fatal, but they will hurt." The Qunari reached for a pouch resting beside him. He took the metal cap off before standing. He took slow, deliberate steps toward Fenris.

          Fenris kept still, eying the bag with caution. "Where am I?" He tried to keep his tone even, not wanting to speak out of turn, but his voice came out as croak. He swallowed, but it did nothing to make his throat less dry.

          The Qunari crouched beside Fenris. "Drink." He held the pouch out. "You're still in Seheron. We found you near the shore." The Qunari’s voice was level, never rising too loud, but keeping its unquestionable firmness.

          Fenris gripped the pouch and drank greedily. The cold water slid down his throat with ease, washing over his body until he no longer felt like he was on fire. It did nothing to ease his pain or the exhaustion seeping into his bones.

          The Qunari pulled the water away before Fenris was done. He frowned, staring at it, but not asking for more. He knew better than to want when he was being cut off.

          "You'll get sick," the Qunari explained as he put the cap back on the pouch. He sat it beside Fenris. "We saw you fight. You're a warrior."

          Fenris managed a shaky nod before falling still. He caught the Qunari’s gaze. “You’re a native.” His brows furrowed. Why would a native save him when he was with the Tevinters? He pursed his lips at the thought.

          Fenris was surprised by the light chuckle that escaped the Qunari. He’d never known a Qunari to laugh. Of course, he’d only seen them staring down death.

          Fenris grimaced as he stared at the other. The man rose to his feet, scarred lips stretching into a small smile. “How are you feeling?”

          Fenris watched the man closely. "I'm going to live." He swallowed, licking his dry lips. He glanced down at the water but said nothing.

          The Qunari's scarred brow rose. He reached up, grabbing his chin and stroking the trimmed hairs covering his jawline. “Do you have a name, elf?” The Qunari returned to his seat across from Fenris.

          “Yes.” His brows furrowed. The Qunari didn’t keep slaves. Perhaps the person before him was Tal-Vashoth. The thought made his stomach twist into knots. He didn’t want a new master.

          The man in front of Fenris leaned forward. “Tell me.” He folded his arms across his lap, eyes never leaving Fenris. The man wasn’t threatening. He was large, which may have been intimidating to some, but Fenris could read the man’s body language. There was nothing threatening in the way the man moved.

          The elf turned his head so he could stare up at the bits of sky he could see between breaks in the tree canopies. Even if the man wasn’t threatening, Fenris didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be off this island, at home with his master. There was nothing for him to do there, no one for him to serve. He was lost and without purpose. It was scarier than facing down death.

          Fenris’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but he decided to finally respond. “Fenris.”

          He heard a soft noise that sounded almost like a chuckle. “Welcome, Fenris.”

 --

          Being with the Fog Warriors was uncomfortable. It shouldn’t have been. He’d been in Seheron long enough to find himself appreciating the place, but his freedom was suffocating. Whenever he thought about all the decisions he could make, he was chased by the thought that he’d be punished if he made the wrong choices. He had spent the first few days in bed, but after that, he would slip around the camp slowly, fear chasing his every move.

          It was two days after he was able to get out of bed that he found himself curled next to a tree, head between his legs just trying to breathe. The panic that swelled in his chest, threatening to split open if his heart didn’t start pounding. His blood was racing, heart thrumming in his ears. He took deep breaths, but they came out choked off. He had his hands on his head, covering his eyes as he tried to hide against the tree. He didn’t want anyone to see him there, nor did he want anyone to come over and punish him for dropping the pot in front of him.

          Fragments of clay were scattered around in front of him. The dirt beneath it was darkened from the water that had spilled from the pot. He knew he shouldn’t have been carrying the pot with when his hands had been shaking all day, but he’d been asked to. If he were with Danarius, he knew he’d be punished for such clumsy behavior.

          As he was trying to breathe through the panic, he reminded himself that Danarius wasn’t around, but he didn’t know the Qunari. Would they punish him in the same way? The thought made him grit his teeth as he slid down to cover his mouth. He was gasping for air, and his body was too hot. The panic was overwhelming. He didn’t hear anyone approach until it was too late.

          “Fenris?” It was the man who had found him almost dead on the beach of Seheron. Hadi’s voice cut through the panic, but did nothing to calm him. His skin began to prickle as he tilted his head back, seeking out the Qunari’s gaze. The man stepped around the broken pot before crouching beside Fenris. He reached out and placed a firm hand on Fenris’s shoulder. “Breathe,” he instructed.

          Fenris parted his lips, taking another deep breath. “Trying-”

          Hadi squeezed Fenris’s shoulder. Fenris knew better than to flinch away. He was expecting pain, to be told that he shouldn’t have dropped the pot. None of it came, just a firm hand on his shoulder. “Would you like water?”

          Fenris’s tongue darted across dry lips. He nodded shakily. “I didn’t mean- I just couldn’t stop shaking-” He lowered his hands so Hadi could see them. His fingers were twitching. He took a few deep breaths, holding each one until his chest felt less like it was about to rip open. “I’m sorry-”

          Hadi slowly pulled his hand away. “It’s alright, Fenris,” he promised. “I’m going to get you water.”

          Fenris wanted to believe the man, but it was difficult to. The memories he had - since he couldn’t remember anything before the damn markings were burned into his flesh - were all riddled with punishments for even the smallest mistakes.

          His mind went blank when he saw Hadi slowly standing up. He watched the man wander away. Fenris was half expecting Hadi to never come back, or if he did, he wasn’t expecting to be taken care of. He was surprised to see Hadi walking back with a container filled with water. He had to remind himself that this was the same man who had saved him, not because he was an investment, but because the man had seen that he was hurt.

          Hadi held the water out to Fenris. The elf’s hands were still shaking as he reached out, snatching it and drinking it greedily. Water spilled over his lips, dripping down to collect on his loose tunic. When he lowered the container, he wiped at his lips, nose wrinkling as he shook his head.

          “You can go back to our tent,” Hadi told Fenris, not at all offended that the elf had stopped talking. “I’ll bring you dinner, if you’d like to rest.”

          Fenris wanted to cry. He shook his head, trying to find his voice. He took another deep breath, feeling a bit of relief as his chest relaxed with his exhale. “I will- Thank you- For now, would you speak to me for a moment?” He paused. “About anything- The Qun, I don’t care-”

          Hadi chuckled softly as he nodded. “ _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun._ ”

          Fenris closed his eyes as he curled again. “What does that mean?”

          “Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun.”

 --

          Fenris found he wasn’t the only Tevinter slave to be taken in by the Fog Warriors. The Warriors told him many slaves had been brought over, only to be left by their masters when there wasn’t enough room on the boats for the slaves to escape. The Fog Warriors knew the slaves were innocent, that they were brought to Seheron by force. This code of honor was one of the many things Fenris found himself admiring about the people who took him in.

          The Fog Warriors were interesting people. Hadi told him fascinating tales every morning. They spoke of battles against the Qunari and the Imperium to protect their land, to stay free from the hands of both. They’d manage to stay free for so long, and the more Fenris heard, the more he understood why, even if freedom was still a concept he could barely wrap his head around.

          He was sitting beside Hadi during breakfast, as had become habit. Fenris had to force himself not to overeat. His bowl was sitting beside him, still half full as he waited to see if he really was still hungry. He didn’t want to make himself sick, like he did the first day he had free reign over his meals.

          Fenris pulled his long hair over his shoulder, smoothing out the strands and gently pulling apart the tangles with his fingers. He slowly sectioned the pieces before braiding the hair. He used the action to keep his mind off the food beside him. He needed to not obsess, to not think about all the times he’d gone without. He wanted to eat until he was sick, to remember the fullness just in case. He knew the Fog Warriors would never let him starve, but the thought was there, gnawing at the back of his mind.

          “You should put it up,” Hadi commented as he leaned forward. “So it can’t be pulled in battle.”

          Fenris looked over at the man, brows rising. He glanced down at the ends of his white hair, nose wrinkling as he continued to braid the strands. “This is how I was told to wear it,” he replied, tying off the ends. He ran his fingers down the plaited hair before scoffing. “It requires too much maintenance.”

          Hadi’s brow rose as he looked over the braid falling to Fenris’s waist. He grunted as he sat up straight. “If you don’t like it, cut it.” The man sat his empty bowl down. “No one is forcing you to keep it long.”

          Fenris’s expression twisted, reflecting his confusion as he dropped his hands to his lap. His fingers laced together, palms pressing firmly against one another. He tilted his head back, thinking over what Hadi said. It was true. His master - no, he’d start referring to the Tevinter as Danarius, not master - was no longer around to control how he presented himself. He no longer had to play the part of the pretty pet.

          “I’ll keep that in mind,” Fenris promised, pushing his braid back. He reached for his bowl, eager to forget his hair and begin eating once more.

          Hadi watched as Fenris took fast bites, scarfing down the last of his food. The man’s brows knitted together, but he didn’t speak.

\--

          Her name was Tal’i. She was an elf in her forties taken from an Alienage in Orlais when she was a young girl. She had been an orphan, she had told Fenris the evening the Fog Warriors had brought her back with them, and had trusted some slavers who promised her a full belly and a warm place to sleep. What she didn’t know was that when she woke up, she’d be caged with a group of kids just like her, and be on her way to an auction in Tevinter.

          She was a slave who fled the moment her master fell in battle, seeing it as an opportunity to feel the freedom that used to be just a young woman’s wish.

          She was a great storyteller, Fenris decided one evening. She had a way of crafting a tale so he could vividly see the sceneries she sang of. Her words formed grand pictures of the busy streets of Orlais and of the quiet mountains of Ferelden. Tal’i had travelled often with her former master. She was as skilled with a sword and dagger as she was with a lyre and her voice.

          She was a bard by force. Fenris understood in a way the Fog Warriors never would. Her master saw a pretty face and an even prettier voice and chose to utilize both. He could see what mannerisms were beat into her. She could charm anyone with the soft lilt of her laugh followed by a gentle brush of her hand against a knee. She could win trust with her sweet face, even with the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled, though they weren’t there from years of happiness.

          He felt her hand brush his wrist, soft fingers gliding across dark skin. He glanced down at her nails. He could tell she was a prized slave. Her nails were neatly filed, painted a dark red that would match any blood she happened to spill. Her hands weren’t calloused the way the hands of other slaves were, though it wasn’t from not working as hard. She was well taken care of, he decided, but she was worked just as hard as any other slave, seeing as her hands shook even when she was desperately trying to make them stop.

          He swallowed as he reached over, brushing the back of her hand with his own fingers, his callouses scratching against her dark skin. When he looked up, catching her gaze, he found himself smiling at the knowing expression that twinkled in the green and blue starbursts of her irises.

          He liked Tal’i as much as he liked Hadi. She was the only one who understood life in Tevinter, and she was the only one who didn’t look at him with pity. Instead, whenever he caught her friendly smile, he saw relief.

          Tal’i wasn’t with them long. None of the other slaves they found were. They often left Seheron in search of their families or to travel and see what they were missing. Tal’i gave him a pendant - a small, bronze necklace with the symbol of Andraste - and a thank you for befriending her.

\--

          It was strange how Hadi could be so gentle, despite how rugged and big his hands were. The hands, heavily calloused from years of war and work, handled Fenris’s hair gently. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he felt fingers carding through the strands. It was something he always enjoyed when he was with Danarius.

          The Tevinter loved the long, white strands. He often played with them when he was pleased with Fenris’s performance. It was a reward, something that Fenris used to look forward to. The thought made his stomach churn. He hated keeping his hair long, and he hated Danarius.

          His entire body tensed when he felt Hadi grip his hair. He listened to the shears slide together as the cut through the strands. He opened his eyes. He was a little uncomfortable with how light his head was beginning to feel. He took a deep breath, silently reminding himself this was what he wanted. Hadi had taught him freedom. His choice to remove a part of him that Danarius liked, and that he hated, was part of that freedom.

          “Are you okay?”

          Hadi was so patient. Fenris knew he couldn’t have asked for a better friend to help him wrap his mind around this freedom, to help him understand what things he could do, now that he didn’t take orders unless he wanted to. He fought alongside the Fog Warriors, helping them defend their home to repay them for the kindness they had shown him.

          “I want it all gone. Make it so. Please.” Fenris crossed his hands in his lap as he sat up straighter.

          “ _Meravas_.” Hadi gently carded his fingers through Fenris’s hair. The fingers were large, much larger than Danarius’s were. They were calloused and scarred, but gentle, as he worked his way through sections of Fenris’s hair.

          Fenris remained still and silent. His stomach filled with something like dread, but not quite so bad. Excitement, he decided it was, something he was becoming more and more familiar with the longer he was free. He found himself smiling, eyes drifting shut as he listened to Hadi hum to himself as he cut the elf’s hair.

 --

          Fenris dreaded the day Danarius would come back to collect his investment. He had foolishly hoped it wouldn’t happen, that he’d be hidden with the Fog Warriors. He thought he could stay there with Hadi, helping other slaves escape their masters when the Tevinters brought them over to fight this war. It was stupid, and he knew that now as he stood between Danarius and the Fog Warriors. He should have left like Tal’i had left. He should have left with her, but it was too late for that now.

          “ _Fenris_ ,” Danarius demanded his attention, voice cutting through everything. The lyrium veins began to glow as he focused on his master’s - on Danarius’s voice.

          He took a deep breath as he gripped his sword even tighter. He was hunched over the broad sword, blade resting against the dirt as he heaved in breaths. He was torn between listening to the master he had been away from for months, and the people who had accepted him and taught him that freedom meant. He wanted to fall over and start sobbing right then and there, but he knew better than that. Even with the months of being with the Fog Warriors, of befriending them, he knew what Danarius was capable of. Several months away did nothing to sever the collar that suffocated Fenris.

          “Kill them. Show me your loyalty so I may think about keeping you.”

          Tears stung in Fenris’s eyes as he snarled, lips turning down into a deep scowl baring his teeth like he was feral. Little wolf, Danarius had often called him. He felt more like a mabari, like he couldn’t disobey a direct order, even after he’d been roaming free from his master. He wondered if he’d ever feel like he was more than some man’s trained dog.

          He hated himself. He hated the tears that trickled down his cheeks as his armor clinked with his slow movements. He took a step forward, feet digging in the dirt like an anchor, as if it would keep him from obeying orders.

          Orders were orders, he reminded himself. He remembered the pain that came with ignoring them, the days without food. He remembered the one time Danarius overpowered him, reminding him exactly where his position was. He was a trained dog that would perform his tricks when his master snapped his fingers. Freedom was an illusion, he told himself.

          ‘ _Maraas shokra._ ’

          He wanted to laugh, but instead he choked back a sob. Hadi had always been right. There was nothing to struggle against, because he would always obey when he was given an order. He was a dog, and dogs didn’t deserve friendship or freedom.

 --

          It wasn’t the first time Fenris had killed. He’d spilled blood for Danarius, taking any life he was ordered to do so. He had been willing. He knew nothing else, but now, all he could see was red. It dripped down the lyrium veins, collecting on his fingers. He knew it wasn’t real, that the blood was imaginary, but he kept scrubbing until it hurt. He’d been doing this for several days, trying to wash it away while on the boat while he fled Seheron. Now, on the mainland, he couldn’t stop.

          He kept seeing their faces whenever he closed his eyes. He kept them open, staring down at the fountain.

          “You! Elf! Get out of there!” The voice startled him. His eyes went wide, muscles tensing as he jumped up. Water splashed everywhere, drenching his dirty tunic. He turned, catching the gaze of an angry human. He exhaled sharply before turning away and running.

          Fenris was good at running. He escaped Danarius. He’d escaped the battle and the blood. He was running from the faces of those who saved him, those he killed because of an order. He was exhausted, and his entire body was screaming at him to stop, but he kept running. He ran away from the blood and the faces that haunted him, until his legs couldn’t take it. He stumbled, nearly falling.

          He hunched over, hands planted firmly against his thighs as he panted. His body trembled from the strain and exhaustion.

          “ _Spite ate away all that was good, kind, and loving till nothing was left but the spite itself, coiled 'round my heart like a great worm._ ”

          He tilted his head back when he heard the soft lilt. His eyes narrowed, focusing on a woman standing outside the Chantry. Several children were sitting around her, lazing in a patch of grass. Two children - one elf and one human - braided each others hair, while the others stared up at the Sister with wide eyes.

          “ _And in my darkest hour, I turned from Her and vowed that I would destroy Her._ ”

          Fenris slowly moved closer. His legs shook beneath him, but he managed to keep moving, until he was able to lean against the stone wall surrounding the Chantry. He gripped the stones, using them to keep him upright as he listened to the chant. He remembered hearing the Canticle of Maferath before, but the details were fuzzy. He closed his eyes as he listened to the sister finish.

          “ _At the moment of Her death I knew what I had done, and I wept._  
          I shall bring the lands of my fathers to Her Word. Therein lies their  
          salvation and mine.  
          And She came to me in a vision and laid Her hand on my heart.  
          Her touch was like fire that did not burn. And by Her touch, I was made  
          pure again.  
          Despair not, said She, for your betrayal was Maker-blessed and returned  
           me to His side.  
          I am forgiven.”

          Fenris scoffed as he peeled his eyes open. He tilted his head back in enough time to see the Sister smiling at him. He pursed his lips together, frowning as he pushed off the stone wall. He turned his attention to the Chantry. The large building was bright and clean, standing as a pinnacle of hope in the small town.

          He found himself following the dirt path leading to the steps of the Chantry. His legs continued to tremble him, begging him to stop and rest. He pushed on, shoving the doors open and stumbling across the threshold.

          The floor felt cold against his bare feet. He could hear Danarius’s voice in the back of his head scolding him for daring to enter in such a dirty state, but he forced it down. He wasn’t sure what he needed, but he knew he needed to be there.

          He finally collapsed in front of a statue of Andraste. He stared up at the bronze statue, green eyes widening. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He was lost. He’d spilled the blood of the people who gave him some semblance of purpose. Now, he had nothing.

          He clasped his hands together, head tilting down as his eyes clamped shut. His jaw clenched, and he quietly began to pray. He prayed for forgiveness, for the blood to be cleansed from his hands. He could see Hadi’s face, the stretch of scarred lips into a pleased smile whenever Fenris did something of his own accord. He could see the pride the Fog Warrior took when he caught Fenris healing.

          Fenris took a deep breath, murmuring softly to himself as he prayed. He needed to stop this cycle. He opened his eyes, tilting his head back to she could stare up at the bronze face of Andraste. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring when he exhaled.

          He would find a purpose. There was nothing but anger, guilt, and pain left in him. He needed to channel it into something. He would find it. He would find a way to have his revenge. For now, he would sit there and quietly pray.


End file.
